Under the Linden Tree
by synpitou
Summary: I'm the girl that died and didn't stay dead. SI/OC-as-Fem!Mammon/Viper
1. der erste

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**Hahaha ImdoingitagainarentI?**

**But I just love KHR so much. So much I'm re-watching the entire anime. So much that I have so many plot bunnies.**

**I was actually inspired to start this by **thelonelylovechild's** SI-as-Fem!Skull story, **_Cranium_**.**

**Even though I personally think Viper/Mammon is a girl (even when everything says 'he').**

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Disconcerting was the only way to accurately describe being reincarnated in one word. Because one moment you're somewhere familiar, you know who you are and then – then you're knocked for a loop and somewhere else in a body that just isn't _right_.

Then you spend a few years only half-there because your new body can't handle a mind so large, not yet.

So then you suddenly become conscious and you're surrounded by people who you know, but then again don't, and somehow can speak (kind of) a language you've never learned.

And you have no choice but to accept, because _what other choice is there?_

In any case, my now-name is Betlinde Feld. Currently five years old and the only child to a poor family living somewhere in southern Germany. A place where, apparently, it was normal to have plum colored hair and darker purple eyes to match.

I'm the girl that died and didn't stay dead, and instead became a girl-child (or woman-child, perhaps) with a lifetime of knowledge in a place I know nothing of.

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While I was five when I gained full consciousness as Betlinde Feld, when I was seven when I got the first real glimpse of the town I lived in – and, perhaps the most interesting _person_ in the town. I was on the first of what would be many, many trips around town scrounging in the dirt for lost change (and perhaps more) – change that I was saving and hiding (saving because I did _not_ like being poor, and hiding because my dad liked booze).

It was obvious the whole area was fairly poor, though some of us were obviously worse off than others. My family, for one, lived in a small home with cracked windows and beer bottles all around – courtesy of my father. Several other houses were in similar forms of disarray around us, and then they slowly grew into more middle-class-esque houses out by the market square. Though my favorite place by far was a small park where large, centuries old Linden trees grew, shading the whole area and littering the ground below with the rays of light that filtered through the leaves.

Despite the area's beauty, not many people went there. They instead went to another park that was mostly a grassy plain, all because of a strange old woman who all but lived in the Linden tree park.

She was a gristly old woman, her hands and feet gnarled with age and her dark eyes sunken and seemingly forever watching. Her hair was probably the prettiest part of her, as it was long, straight, and shimmered in the light all the way from the grey in her roots to where it transitioned into dirty blonde at her middle.

I could say that with upmost certainty and detail because I was face to face with her right now – something I was sure my mother would _not_ be pleased about.

"Child, do you know the legends?"

Her voice was as I'd imagined it – warbled with old age, but still distinctly feminine.

"Legends?"

My voice, on the other hand, was neither distinctly feminine nor masculine. In fact, it somewhat matched my looks, as I was on the more androgynous side – then again, I was seven, so it wasn't unusual.

"These Linden trees, child. The Sacred Trees –"

"Betlinde!" Mother's voice was shrill as she grasped at my arms, "What do you think you're doing? You _know_ –"

Mother's voice faded to the back of my mind as I glanced over my shoulder, my deep purple eyes connecting to the old woman's dark, dark eyes. We stayed that way, eyes connected, until mother pulled me around the corner.

Dark, dark eyes filled with knowledge.

Knowledge I wanted, because knowledge held _worth_.

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**Fun Facts: **

_Betlinde is a German name that can mean either "Bright Serpent" or "Bright Linden Tree"._

_Feld is a German surname that means "Field" (which is **also** ironic. Can you tell me why? ;)) _

**So yeah.**


	2. der zweite

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**WARNING: Abuse is mentioned in this chapter. Not explicitly written out, but referenced to and mentioned.**

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Only a faint, almost nonexistent creak followed the removal of a piece of the floorboard under my bed – also known as my "stash". Or, rather, the little space under the floor where I had a small and worn fabric bag filled with all the spare pieces of change I find in the streets. It was from paranoia and necessity that I did it.

Paranoia because a thief – not uncommon around here – would check everything else. And because I did not want to live a life where money was tight again, because that's all my past life was. It was full of bills and debt and nothing to pay it with.

Necessity because if a thief didn't find it, my mother or father would – though mostly my father. Mother would take it and add it to the family funds, and if she did that father would find it (or she'd get smacked around until she gave it to him). Father would take it because money means booze, and booze means life for him.

It was toxic, this house. This life.

"_FELICIE!_"

A smack and a thump followed the yell, causing me to hurry in my actions and shimmy from underneath my bed before making a move for the window. Because, at this point, it was best to get out of the house. I felt bad for running while mother suffered, but I did not want to take chances, even if he hadn't yet made a move for me in these seven years; besides, I was sure mother wouldn't want that to happen.

So it was with a resigned grimace that I carefully opened my window with a muffled thump that sent dust into the air to tickle my nose. Another muffled yell came from somewhere in the house as I slid out the widow and pushed it shut with a click that sounded more like a crack.

"A danger foreseen," I mumbled as I shuffled across the street, "is half avoided."

I'll have to face him one day – whether I want to or not. It was inevitable, really. Whether or not I come out unharmed is something that I'd rather not think about though.

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Again I found myself at the Linden tree park, my hands clenching and unclenching around the coins in my pockets as I moved through the trees. The old woman was my goal – as I desperately wanted to know what those 'legends' she spoke of were.

"So the child comes again."

My spine snapped straight and I jerked around at the sound of her voice.

"What? Where did you come from? You weren't here before."

An indulgent smile crossed her face, the light filtering through the canopy above us tinting everything a faint green.

"Wasn't I?"

"You weren't!" I felt my brows furrow, "I would have seen you!"

She laughed, and for a moment I couldn't help but to think of her as a witch – because that's certainly what she reminded me of when she laughed her loud, high pitched laugh. Considering her appearance and literal appearance mere moments ago, it didn't seem too farfetched either.

"Magic, child. It was magic."

My face flushed – she was crazy; absolutely crazy, "You're insane!"

"Am I?"

I froze, halfway in my turn and I felt my eyes widen, because there was a _tree_. And I don't mean the trees around us, I mean that there was a small tree – a _Linden_ tree – _growing from her hand_. It twisted and produced little green leaves and it truly looked like there was a bonsai tree growing from the center of her palm.

"The Linden tree is sacred – a tree with the power to protect us from bad luck and repel harmful spirits," her gnarled hand clenched suddenly and the tree burst into white petals that floated gently to the earth, "And bolster powers that are beyond people unlike us."

There was a shimmer and suddenly there were two upside-down triangles on her cheeks, purple in color and marred by her wrinkles.

"Powers? _Us_?" I swallowed thickly, "And your _face_ – those weren't _there_ before!"

"Magic, child. Witchcraft. Illusions." She motioned to her cheeks, "These are marks from The Society. They show that I completed my training; that I can control my illusions."

I wanted to protest, say that she was insane, but I couldn't. Because I'd seen that tree in her hand, something that shouldn't have been possible. Plus, the moment I saw those triangles on her cheeks my gut had twisted, and something in my head was screaming that I had seen those before. Though I couldn't for the life of me say where that was – I _knew_ it had to be in my past life though.

"Why tell me this?" It had started eating at me the moment I saw the tree, "Why show me? I'm just a little kid."

"Because you have _potential_, child." The indulgent smile crossed her wrinkled face again, "It's even in your name."

I licked my lips and my hands clenched around my gathered change, "But how do you know? _Who are you?_"

"I know because I can sense it." She tapped her temple, her dark, dark eyes boring into mine, "I go by many names, but you can know me as Solange."

The world seemed to shake for a moment and my heart seemed to quiver in my chest – because this was overwhelming. Absolutely overwhelming.

"If you want," she continued, "you can also know me as 'teacher.'"

I hesitated before tearing my eyes away and running, my heart beating a mile a minute. Behind me her warbled voice called out clear as day –

"Take your time. I'll be waiting, Betlinde."

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**That's right. I named her Solange. WHAT OF IT?**

**Fun Facts:**

**Linden trees **_**are**_** actually thought of that way by some people.**

**Her last name Feld, which means "field" (I mentioned this last chapter), is ironic because when Viper starts going my Mammon Esper, "Esper" is a name with German origins and means "Pasture".**

**Hence why I made her German in the first place.**


	3. der dritte

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**I'm actually rather fond of this chapter. I really am.**

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Everything felt so routine, so suffocating, after my confrontation with Solange. It was like everything was too _mundane_ now that I'd gotten a taste of the abnormal, almost like the life I was living now wasn't the life I'm _meant_ to be living. But to accept what I'd seen as reality was almost like rejecting reality – which was something that was very hard to accept.

Because it was scary to think that there was some sort of magic underworld. And it brought up more unpleasant thoughts about the world as I knew it.

So I didn't think about it.

I pushed it back.

I pushed it back and focused on the here-and-now that I lived in. Because to get away from this house and this life, I had to think about it to find a way out.

"Be-Betlinde!" Father's voice was slightly slurred and coated in the irritation that came with a hangover, "Go get me shum f-food…"

With an almost silent sigh I called out in acceptance before grabbing my threadbare black coat to fend off the offending drizzle outside. I shrugged it on as mother met me by the door, handing me some spare change with a bruised hand before she ran the same hand through my hair and pulled up my hood.

"Be safe," her hand cupped my cheek, "and be quick, please."

It wasn't just out of worry for me that she said this, I was sure. But I had no reason to stay out long in this dreary weather; being soaked through wasn't something I enjoyed. That and I'm still deadest on avoiding that old hag Solange. Even if I desperately missed the tranquility and thrum of energy brought about by the Linden trees.

"I will, mother. As quick as the wind."

And with that I stepped out and into the misting rain.

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As one might imagine, there weren't many people out and about in this weather. Sure, there were a few people walking the streets with old umbrellas and the occasional car flashing by and spraying dirty gutter water onto the sidewalks and unlucky pedestrians, but there weren't near as many people as per usual.

_It makes the town have a solemn sort of air_, I mused, _and the dankness and cloudy skies makes things so grey._

As I made to take a shortcut through an alley I couldn't help but catch a glimpse of the Linden tree park and couldn't help but to stop – because it seemed so unreal. Even with the greyness from the overcast sky and the cover of misty drizzle the park seemed so green. So alive. It almost effervesced with muted color and something in my gut coiled and twisted the more I soaked in the view.

"Oi! Brat!"

I tensed and jerked around, my breath catching in my throat as I caught the glint of a knife. Connected to that knife was a dirty, shaking hand that was connected to a poor specimen of a man – complete with greasy, frizzy hair and wild eyes set in a grey face.

"J-just…give me all the ca-cash you got!" He was frantic, stumbling over words – impatient too, "What y-you waitin' for kid?!"

But I was just so stunned and the coiling in my gut turned into a roiling pit of _something_ that seemed to make my mind turn to mush – that is, until the man seemed to snap and _lunged_.

And whatever it was roiling in my gut and my head _snapped_ and a scream got lodged in my throat as my eyes squeezed shut and I stumbled back to fall on my behind, ground water soaking into my skirt. The only thing that passed through my mind at that moment was a fleeting, wishful thought –

_A guard dog, if only I had a guard dog. Something intimidating like the Grim._

And then there was a scream, distinctly male yet distinctly high pitched. Following that scream was a snap of jaws and a snarl, deep and feral and another choked scream that turned into almost silent wheezing.

My eyes snapped open to be met with a hulking, black figure. A dog, big and covered in wild black fur. Its eyes were an eerie yellow and its teeth oh, so obviously sharp and glinting a red hue in the murky light from the mixture of blood and saliva. And the man lay there, shuddering, blood pooling from the spots where the dog had torn into them.

The dog then met my eyes, as if asking _'What now? What will you have me do?'_

In that moment it was as if a lightbulb went off in my head – _the dog wasn't real_. It was there, but not, and was the exact creature I'd imagined when the man had lunged for me.

"You aren't real," I breathed, "an illusion."

And as if validating that statement he faded, seeping back into the shadows from whence he came. The man, though, was still bleeding – still wheezing. Because he had believed, and because he had believed he had been _hurt_. I was both horrified and intrigued by this realization –

Horrified because an illusion had done this. Something that wasn't really there.

Intrigued because _an illusion had done this_. I had done this, somehow.

The man might die, probably would die, I realized as I hurried out of the alley and to my original destination – the market. Part of me was somewhat indifferent to that fact, the other had me internally screaming and crying and my body becoming cold. A coldness that only seemed to deepen as I bought the food and as I stepped through the doorway of my home and handed the bag to my mother.

And when I entered the bathroom the coldness combined with shock and I froze, a hand on my hood that fell limply to my side as I had a stare down with my distorted image in the cracked mirror. Because with the dark hood pulled down over my face and my plum hair limply framing my face everything that I thought I knew about where I was seemed to take off running out of the house.

Because if I imagined two upside down triangles on my face, I'd look just like Viper. Mammon Esper. The Varia's illusionist. The Arcobaleno of Mist.

The coldness soaking through me became numbness and my body tingled all over and a few tears fell down my face –

"…I need the old hag."

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**And don't think she'll just forget that man's death after this.**

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	4. der vierte

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**Guest(I'm assuming all three were the same one...?):**** Oh ho. **ʕಠᴥಠʔノ❤  
**Also, thank you! And the mind works in funny ways - so in situations like those you might not think now that you would be able to think of anything - and you probably wouldn't - but that doesn't mean you _wouldn't_ think of _something_.**

**And the "Society" will be explored in time, my lovely Anon.**

**And Solange is a pretty name. (Though I honestly wasn't thinking of pretty names when I named her).**

**[]**

**For some reason I feel I'm oddly good at writing dark stuff.**ಠ**_**ಠ **And I don't know how to feel about that.**

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Despite claiming that I needed to see Solange, and feeling the need to go see her, I couldn't bring myself to do it. What held me back could be compared to thin strings, like the ones used on marionettes. Little strings that were thin, ready to either snap of their own accord or be snipped away as if someone was snipping away at them with scissors.

Two had already broken away – one had snapped when I was left with the bleeding, dying, sorry excuse for a man in the alley; the other was cut by Fate itself – or God, Krishna, or what the _hell_ ever was _there_ – when I looked in the mirror and saw _Viper_.

My breath fogged my murky cracked window as I exhaled sharply, making it look even _more_ dank than it already was. It was getting frustrating, staring down at my hand, willing something to happen, and then getting absolutely nothing.

Though, perhaps nothing wasn't exactly true.

I got wisps. Insignificant little wisps with no shape or solidity – even when I was clearly imagining a flower or a coin. Even the big, black dog I'd made in my terror was out of my reach. All I could do was form a pitiful little ball that was like a sphere of confined heat, because that's what it looked like – a condensed marble made of heatwaves like the ones would see wafting into the air above a hot surface.

_Had the real Viper had this problem when they were a child?_

_Had they been this horrible? This untalented?_

My fingers twitched as I stared down at them – my stubby child-fingers and ragged, bitten nails. They twitched again and I reflexively clenched my hand at the hollow thump that sounded from another room in the house – a thump that spoke of flesh hitting something that wasn't flesh, something that I hadn't heard in a while.

"Am I going to regret this?" And as I said it, I was sure I would, but I didn't stop myself from peering into the living room.

A cold chill shot through my bones and with how hard it was to move, I felt that my joints had frosted over, and I could imagine so clearly this sheet of ice crisscrossing over my bones and muscles and stopping all movement as my heart thudded in my chest. Because my father was laying there, unmoving on the floor with beer soaking into his shirt from an overturned bottle. And I was horrified because this looked just like the dying man in the alley.

Except I heard no wheezing. I saw no movement.

Was he – had he just keeled over? Had I walked in to see another dead man?

"Father?" My voice trembled, low at first before increasing in tenor, "Father? _Father_? _**Dad**_?"

Just as soon as my breathing started becoming erratic he all but snarled and twisted over at an alarming speed that I would have no way of outclassing – even if my joints hadn't frosted over – and then I was on the floor several feet away with a stinging cheek and addled brain. He stumbled up, scowling and cursing with a hand clenched in his hair –

"What the hell ish wrong wich ya, ya little sh-shit?"

The stinging combined with fuzzy numbness as I scrambled up and back, with eyes that were undoubtedly wide and conflicted.

"Ty-tryna' sleep a-and ya come makes noise. Get tha he-hell _out_."

And I was gone, my joint burning instead of freezing, echoing the feeling in my face.

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Mother had hugged me and cried when she got back that day almost a week ago. She had dropped to her knees with me pulled to her bosom before rocking, mumbling about how sorry she was as her tears soaked into my shirt, leaving an amorphous stain in the fabric that was a shade darker then it was meant to be.

I had cried too – though it was more the bottled up tears left from when I'd killed that man.

It was the push I'd needed though, that incident. Because it had me here, at the Linden tree park, staring up into the canopy with the green filtered light almost masking the bruise that was now shaded green and brown instead or purple and blue.

My spine tingled and I winced at the sensation, peeking over my shoulder to see the old woman staring at me with her dark, dark eyes. The look in them made me want to scream, because they had that look that said _'I know what happened'_… but they _didn't_ have a look of pity or even empathy. It was somewhat odd, but I was grateful for that, at least.

"Death is something we can't avoid," she warbled, "Death and pain and all of the darkness in the world is constantly baring down on us."

I didn't respond as she paused, eyeing me – her dark, dark eyes not giving anything away.

"We can't defeat it. We can run, and we can hide, but it still finds us and the cycle starts again."

Annoyed – and upset and _lost_ and _**scared**_ – I snapped back at her waspishly, all but hoping my words would somehow sting her, "Then _what_ do we do?"

She smiled, her teeth oddly straight and an unnatural, bright white, "We accept it, make it a part of us. Take it in and use it until it doesn't affect us anymore."

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**Did you notice my new love of strange text faces?  
Because if you didn't.  
**(´◉◞౪◟◉) **  
**

**Fun Fact:**

_Mammon_ is a biblical name that means "Riches".  
So _Mammon Esper_ is basically "Rich Pasture".

**Also:**

**I originally had the final (eventual, because it's a long way away) pairing figured out. But then I saw fan art of another pairing and got conflicted. So I'm actually considering (eventually) posting another story that takes an alternate route once I reach a certain chapter.**


	5. der fünfte

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**Ahoy.**

**Guest: Her mom is sweet; and Betlinde loves her very much! Pairings probably won't come in for a long while - but I definitely know which pairing is going to be the main one!**

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Creating illusions was harder than I imagined it would be; it was far more than just imagining something and having it appear. You had to will it; believe in it. Or, as I understood, have an up-welling of an emotion like fear or anger, much like when I initially summoned the visage of a Grim. And living a life relying on strong, negative emotions wasn't a life for anyone to live.

And I think I knew all of that, somewhere deep down. But regardless, I didn't think that making something so _simple_ would be so _hard_. The old hag had, just days ago, tasked me with creating the image of a ball about the size of my own fist.

I couldn't do it.

I got flickers of the ball, which I could picture so clearly in my mind, but nothing substantial came about in the material world.

It was frustrating, to say the least.

"_BETLINDE!_" Then again, 'frustrating' seemed to describe my whole life at this point in time, "Betlinde! Get the 'ell down 'ere 'nd make me 'shum food!"

The flickering, not-quite-there ball completely faded as I moved begrudgingly to the kitchen – everything sour. My mind, my feelings, my mouth – all sour. But I had to do this, if I didn't then he would just get mad, and not just at _me_.

"Th't – th't mum of yursh…." I heard the dull slosh of beer in a bottle, "J-just layin' 'round now-a-days. U-useless."

An audible click sounded as my teeth gnashed together, "She's _sick_! Not _useless_!"

A faint whistling sound was the only warning I had as an empty beer bottle sailed past my head and smashed into the wall, the sound of the shattering glass loud and echoing. It was also all I needed to move and get out of his sights – into the kitchen, where I wasn't certain what I would find in terms of food. Though finding something _not_ stale would be preferable, because he was likely to get even worse if I gave him something stale.

With that in mind I also moved to make a simple vegetable broth for mother as well – as she'd been sick for a few days now. As that simmered in an old, dingy pot I quickly made a sandwich, the bread just shy of stale and the meat probably close to the 'best used by' date. Quite frankly it was disgusting, and I had to imagine I was eating something else every meal.

But it was what we had. So it was what I ate – what _we_ ate.

Father all but growled as I sat the plate down by him, and I myself didn't make a single noise. One slap to the face was enough for me, thank you very much.

"…broth is ready," the clinking of the pot was louder than my own voice, "…hopefully mother will be hungry."

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Mother was pale, her skin almost the color of parchment paper with faint dusky circles around her eyes. She still smiled and she still spoke in a kind voice, but she was hurting; that much was clear. She was hurting and that hurt me because I couldn't do anything for the one person that cared for me the most in this life.

"How kind, Betlinde," her dull eraser pink lips pulled into a smile, "Such a sweet daughter I have."

My responding smile was tight and I had to force a happy light into my eyes, because it really did _hurt_. It hurt to see the faint wobble and slosh of the broth that was a tell-tale sign of her trembling. It hurt to know that she was sick and getting _worse_. Because I felt like I should do something; that I _had_ to, because she _deserved_ it.

"I can – maybe – I have," words tumbled past my lips without preamble, "I have some money saved, I can – maybe we can take you to a doctor –"

A cool, shaking hand cupped my cheek, thin fingers wiping away tears I hadn't realized were there, "None of that, Betlinde. I'm sick. I'm getting worse. We both know that, and I hate that. I hate that you have to see me like this, but I'm so _proud_ of you.

"Betlinde, my sweet, smart daughter. Keep that money. I know you've been scrounging for it for years, and I want you to save it and use it to find a better life. If anyone can do that, it's you."

I cried – because her voice was so weak but so strong and her tone held no room for argument. But I still hoped, because that I could do. Hope that things wouldn't stay bad, wouldn't continue being bad. Hoping that I could make a change some_where_, some_how_.

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"So you can finally make the ball, eh?" Solange pointed a gnarled finger at me, "Now try making it again, but make it _translucent_."

My face soured and she cackled, the pitch of it matching the one a person would imagine one of those witches from fairy tales would have. And had I not have seen what I had and been through what I have, I might have actually cringed at the sound.

"…do I really have to?" My tone was just as sour as I was sure my face was, "Can't I move on?"

"Move on to what? Making something translucent on purpose is harder than you think, child." She held her hands out, "Learn to do it this way first, then it will be much easier."

Part of me wanted to cry and scream, because boy was this _stressful_. And if I was a normal child maybe I would have broken down – or maybe not, if this was _Viper_ I was talking about. Perhaps the original Viper was a genius child with a strong mind, because it sure seemed like most illusionists had stronger – or _weirder_ – minds than most.

But that was all irrelevant now. Because this was me; my mind, my life – all me. And I was going to live through this and get out of this poor, dingy town. If illusions were the way I was going to do that, then so be it. If becoming an assassin was the way to do that, I'd do that too – I had already killed someone, after all.

So I could handle it in the long run, right?

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Life could be a wonderfully cruel thing. Constantly it clutched at us and tried to pick at the strings that were holding us together, and the ones that tied us to others. The old hag had described the cruel parts of life as "horrible but necessary" and, admittedly, I could see the validity in that. I really could.

That didn't mean I like it. That didn't mean I wasn't raging and boiling over with all sorts of negative emotions as my mother kept fading and wavering in front of my very eyes. She was teetering back and forth on the line between life and death, and that line was thinning slowly but surely as life picked and pulled at it.

"Mother, can I show you something?"

Her eyes glinted for a moment, a weak curve at the edges.

"…I only recently learned this, you know," I cupped one of her hands in my two much smaller ones, "And I have to show you – because I _want you_ to see."

I sucked in a deep breath and willed with all my heart for this to work – and to my great relief it did. In the palm of her hand a little rosebud grew into existence, and then that little rosebud grew. It grew and reddened and folded outward into a bright red, fully bloomed rose. But the best part wasn't that it worked, not at all. It was mother's face –

It was the awe, the pride, the _love_.

And it was with that look of love that she spoke her last words, so light I thought I might have imagined them –

"_I love you."_

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**Let's say that Betlinde/Viper is nine now. Closer to nine than ten, but not too close.**

**Also, I felt sad writing that. I really did.**

**Also also I felt like this wasn't my best work. x.x; I feel like I've failed with this chapter, but it was a necessary chapter. So I might rewrite/edit this later.**

**Also also also, do you all want to know the main pairing? And what the other one I was considering as the main pairing? It won't be happening for a long while, so I won't be putting the character into the story's character list until their appearance.**

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	6. der sechste

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**My college closed today because we were/are supposed to get heavy snow (like, 4-6 inches). It is now three in the afternoon as I am posting this and we haven't gotten a single flake.**

**LOL.**

**Caterina: Sorry about the shortness! Of this chapter too; the next one will be much longer. Lengthening this one without making it disjointed was too hard.**

**Guest 1: Ahhh~! Thank you so much! For somereason I think my writing style drastically changes when I write this specific story (or maybe that's just me). But I'm very fond of how I write this.**

**Guest 2: If I could have kept her alive I would have, but for the sake of progression… As for the Varia…We'll see. 8D And Oh dear; I want to tell you the pairing, but others have expressed they wish to wait and I don't want to spoil it for them. D: If I could message you to tell you I would. 3**

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Part of me felt as if the Heavens were grieving for my mother, for soon after her burial snow had started falling. It was kind of poetic, in a way, seeing as she was such a pure soul and now the surrounding areas had a coat of white almost as far as the eyes could see.

But it also made things seem so final.

Without my mother, I didn't really have a home. That house was colder than normal and was filled with nothing but anger and beer bottles; it was a hazard to be in for long periods of time, no, it was a hazard to just _enter_ the place. That being said, it was time for me to find a new home – if I _could_ – and get away from this place.

"So you've made your decision," Solange's aged voice was tinged with understanding, "I'll make the preparations then, young one."

"Where," my breath swirled up in white tendrils, "will we be going, Solange?"

One of her gnarled hands landed on my head and I tensed on instinct as her calloused hands caught on my hair, "Why, France, of course."

With that she seemed to vanish – no doubt aided by illusions – and I was left at my mother's still-fresh grave, the earth and marker coated in a layer of white. I let out a deep breath, a puff of white blowing out and curling up past my cold nose and dry eyes as I muttered one last goodbye under my breath –

"You wanted me to escape this life, didn't you? Well mother, I am. But… you have too, haven't you?"

A sharp gust of wind almost wrenched my hood off and caused my skin to sting as it swept up snow from the earth into the air again. As it swirled up into the air to fall again I stretched my arms out, took a deep breath, and shut my eyes. I didn't have to open them to know that the falling snow now resembled red rose petals, and I didn't have to look back to know that they had faded back to snow once I left the cemetery.

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The bag I had to stuff my few belongings in was obviously worn, from both age and use. It was a bitter, almost gut wrenching feeling to realize that I could literally stuff my whole life into this one bag. All that I had to my name was a faded fabric bag of my scrounged up money, four sets of clothes (including what I was wearing), and two old family heirlooms from my mother – a locket and a ring.

They were both dingy and in severe need of a cleaning, but they were still beautiful. I couldn't tell what they were made of, but whatever it is was sturdy since she'd said they'd belonged to her own mother. She'd guarded them voraciously, as they'd held so much sentimental value – and now I supposed it was my turn to do the same.

'_Maybe one day you can give them to your daughter,' she'd said._

_Unlikely._

_Pure wishful thinking._

The creaking floorboards seemed to thunder in my ears now that I knew I was actually leaving this place for good. It was as if they were trying to tell me something – that they wanted me gone; that they were sending me off. But if the creaking was thunder then the heavy footsteps of my father were gunshots.

"W-Where th' 'ell," his face was blotched with red as he hiccupped, his broad shoulder leaning heavily on the doorjamb, "d' you th'nk yer goin'?"

His face scrunched and his eyes lit up with drunken anger tinged with sorrow – but I couldn't find it in me to feel the slightest bit bad for leaving. As he started forward I didn't even feel fear, like I once had. All I felt was _angry_; angry and resigned and determined. My head ducked and my fists clenched and I let all of the anger, sadness, and determination that I felt pool in my gut before _pushing_ out with my mind.

"Th-the 'ell is this?!" His voice was higher pitched in fear, but still rough with anger, "B-Betlinde, y-you–"

My violet eyes met his own – the exact same shade as mine – and from the corners of my eyes I could see what I had managed; what I was doing. Hands – they were greyed out; not at all the right color – were restraining him, one on each arm and on clenching at an ankle –

"I'm leaving. For good." I strode past him and when he tried to reach for me the hands held him in place, "I don't want this life. _I can do better than this_. I _will_ do better than this with my life."

As I felt the door clattered shut over his loud, drunken protests. I didn't worry about the noise though – the few people that lived around here knew him well enough that they would just think he was in some sort of drunken rage.

My feet led me in the direction of the linden tree park and I felt the weight of holding that illusion of hands in place lift from my mind as I turned the corner. My eyes felt a bit heavier and my hands clenched at my side; I needed to get stronger than this.

I was Betlinde Feld. I will be Viper. I will become Mammon Esper.

_The strongest illusionist._

_That's what I'll become._

"Ready, child?" Solange's hair was curled up in a tight bun, making her face somehow younger now that it wasn't hanging around her face and casting shadows.

My hands unclenched, numb from the cold, and I exhaled a clouded breath, "As I'll ever be, you old hag."

"It's not like," the snow crunched under my scuffed up shoes, "You weren't expecting this to eventually happen. You have been teaching me French too."

She chuckled, "Perhaps not in this exact way, but yes. Besides, being knowledgeable in languages will only help you.

"I know," my tone was light as I tugged down on my hood, almost completely obscuring my face, "I think I want to learn more of them. Say, seven? At the least."

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**Shorted chapter (by 300 or so words) because I can't really continue on from here, as it would be disjointed. She'll be in France next chapter, and there will be a bit of a time skip (not too long, so we can see some of her training).**

**So yeah.**

**Also: I've found that "Cigarette Daydreams" by Cage the Elephant is a great muse for writing this.**

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	7. der siebte

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**Caterina: This one is a little longer than the other! x3**

**Also, you guys are all super awesome.**

**Edited on 6/19**

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Winters in France (Paris, to be exact) were, I found, no different than our winters in Germany. It was cold and it snowed, though Paris was a far cry from the tiny town I'd lived in. There were bigger buildings, and more people. Spring and summer were much the same too, only I had no linden trees to sit under anymore. My new living conditions were the most different part though – and quite honestly I was not used to it, even after half a year.

Because _I lived underneath the Eiffel Tower_.

The Order that Solange – that _I_, now – belonged to was nestled under the city of Paris in a labyrinth like system. It just so happened that the main entrance was located at the Eiffel Tower; they had constant guard shifts monitoring the entrance, making sure only those who belonged got in.

The name of 'The Order' is Ordine Umbram, which Solange explained was Latin for 'Order of the Shadows'. I just thought they were being kind of dramatic with it. Though the moment I voiced that opinion I got saddled with extensive mental and illusional exercises; needless to say I didn't mention it again.

"Betlinde!"

An involuntary twitch moved my shoulders at the very cheery male's voice. He was of the few illusionists living here, as he too was still training; he was also a local name Pierre. The thing with Pierre was that he was so cheerful it was as if his energy could come to life and supply several rooms with electric power – his smile was almost blinding in the right light.

"_Don't_ call me that," my pace turned brisk as I made my way to one of the many large training rooms, "That old hag should _never_ have told you that name."

"Oh, come _on_, that name you want to be called isn't even a _name_." Pierre placed his hands on my shoulders, easily following along with my fast pace, "And can you stop calling granny a hag? She's _really_ nice, you know."

"The old hag will always be an old hag." My voice was deadpan as I managed to shake off the teen's hands, "Besides, she creeped me out at first. She _stared_."

"She just saw your _potential_. Granny is –"

There was a rush of air as I slammed shut the training room door, whatever Pierre was saying muffled into intelligible mumbles. Part of me wondered how it would have felt to catch the teen's hands in the door – he wouldn't be so touchy then.

Solange laughed her loud, high pitched laugh – nay, cackle, "Pierre wants nothing more than to be friends, child. You're so harsh on him."

"Your grandson is a nut-bar," I crossed my arms and felt a semi-scowl form on my face, "If I let him, he'd drape himself over me. _And he refuses to call me by my name_."

"But your name is and always will be Betlinde, child."

Her voice always sounded wise, something that I assumed came with age, though it didn't always mean what a person was saying was wise. Though, admittedly, the old hag was right. Betlinde would always be my name – but that didn't mean I _wanted_ or _had_ to be called that.

"I'm not going to respond to it anymore." My arms uncrossed as I exhaled, "Now, can we get started already?"

Solange chuckled again, her long hair rippling and shimmering as she shook, "Fine, fine child. Since you've taken to smaller illusions like a fish to water we'll start on large scale ones."

She motioned behind her with a quiet 'like this' as a small scale Eiffel Tower formed behind her, even the blemishes seemed spot on to the real deal aboveground. As her example faded away I contemplated my options, as she obviously wasn't going to _tell_ me what to make – that was completely up to me this time around.

And I knew what I wanted.

I formed the picture in my mind – the long, twisted body sprinkled with natural blemishes, and the beautiful leafy covering, vibrant and practically blowing in the wind.

The air where I was picturing it wavered and swirled and I pushed and willed into existence my creation – and come into existence it did. I couldn't help but let out a somewhat awed but quiet gasp at the large linden tree as it's leaves and branches moved, as if pushed by the wind.

"Very well done," Solange herself seemed very pleased with my creation, "Viper."

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Despite what had been an initial success, I had been finding it harder to create other larger illusions, and the ones I did manage I couldn't sustain for long periods of time quite yet. The linden tree was the only one that I had made and sustained – and that illusion even had movement. Solange had told me that it was because of my emotions attached to those trees, and that I absolutely had to work to where I didn't have to rely on emotions.

And I really understood that.

Because I couldn't have an emotional attachment to _every single illusion_ I cast. That would only lead to a swift downfall – I'd come crashing down like a tree cut down at the base.

"Why is this so _hard_," I fell back and stretched out my limbs, my face scrunching at the pressure of my popping joints, "Why can't I do this?"

"Wow, you actually sound like a kid for once!" Pierre's voice was loud, as per usual, and caused me to jerk and smack my head on the floor, "Oh man, Betlinde, that looks like it hurt."

As the ponding of in my head faded my tongue felt like it was glued to the roof of my mouth and my eyes watered, but I pushed _that_ back easily enough. The look I gave Pierre was what I was sure was my best possible stink eye, but the older boy just grinned at me.

"Shut up, Pierre," I groused, rubbing my head as I sat back up, "I'm trying to figure this out."

"Kid, be a kid for a while!" Pierre landed with a thump on the ground and crossed his legs, "You've got so much time to get this. Heck, you're already learning faster than most people do."

My lips parted for a brief second, "Learning faster? This feels like it's taking forever. It's been almost a year."

He laughed, loud and bright, the kind that makes the room feel like it's shaking –

"Man, Betlinde, I'm fifteen and I just really got good at large scale, moveable illusions. You're – what, eleven, now?"

I didn't speak – I couldn't. Was I really moving that fast? Stressing myself out over something that someone older had just really mastered? It was a little confounding to think about and I couldn't help but wonder if this was what the Viper I remembered felt like during this training. Had they pushed hard to master everything as soon as possible?

If I accounted for their love of money that was very possible. That was a factor in my rushing too – money and freedom.

Pierre, as annoying as he was, seemed to understand at least part of that –

"You haven't really gotten to go out much since you got here, right? Let's go out; you seem like you need the fresh air and sun. Besides, you're pretty pale."

The smile that had started to pull at my lips turned into a scowl, "Shut up, Pierre."

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The city was bustling, with French people and few foreigners, and was almost refreshing. Memories of my life from before were blurry, aside from the ones relating to this life. But I knew I had lived in a bigger city, at least for a while. It brought a sense of comfort that I hadn't felt in a long while, and I was very thankful for Pierre at this point in time. But I was also rather wary because _France_ was so different. _Paris_ was so different.

Compared to my rundown German home town Paris was like a whole new world, even after a year. There were similarities, sure, like run down homes on outer areas and the occasional appearance of a scruffy, unwashed homeless person – but it was too much of a contrast to make up for much of anything. The buildings were bigger, better, and there was far less green here. It didn't help that my French was distinctly accented either – submersion could only do so much for my thick German accent in the span of a year.

"I don't see why you're wearing a hat," Pierre whined, his arms crossed behind his head, "Let your hair loose, Bet–"

"How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that!" The childish whine was back in my voice and I winced – because since when could I hit such a high pitch? "And I'm wearing a hat because a hood would be _weird_."

Pierre just laughed his loud bright laugh before grabbing my arm, "Come on, I think I know a place you'll appreciate."

At this point I was kind of worried – because what type of place did this nut-bar think I would like? Pierre was never someone I tried to understand, and as such I couldn't even begin to guess where he was planning to take me. In fact, it was hard not to feel a bit wary despite how much I trusted him; not that long ago I'd been attacked in an alley and had killed a man – one doesn't just _forget_ these things.

"This place is kind of rough," he was all smiles as he led me down an alley of all things, "but it's a place people like us can really appreciate."

Before I could really question what he meant by 'people like us' I was pleasantly surprised. Because the place he'd brought me was a back alley café – it was grungy in a good way. And it reminded me of home (in the best way possible). It was dank and quiet, a cool sort of place that held the faint scent of alcohol.

"They're kind of hidden in the shadows too," Pierre's voice was bright, even as he kept it to barely a whisper, "Thieves, informants, the like. The owner is actually an Order member, you know."

I couldn't get a single syllable out, as Pierre had called out a cheerful greeting to the people inside – there were only three, at the moment – and was either ignored or greeted calmly. It was obvious enough that these guys knew him fairly well, and I mentally filed away the fact that, yes, I needed to pay more attention to this teen.

He'd thrown me off with this – he'd shown me something unexpected. Unexpected of this city, and of him.

"Oi, kid, you just gonna stand around?" The voice came from behind me and was distinctly adult and feminine, "You look lost when you do."

She was tall, blonde haired and blue eyed – statuesque, really. Like me she had an accent, though hers was like a tickle where mine would be a rasp; her was also not Germanic in nature like mine. And she had a little girl huddled behind her leg, a little girl with pretty teal hair and blue eyes like her mother's that was probably four or five years younger than me.

"Sorry," I scooted to the side, bumping a chair as I did, earning a somewhat amused smile from the woman.

"First time visiting this place, kid?" She didn't even seem to need me to respond, seeing as she continued on without waiting for any sort of reply, "You came in with the touchy idiot, right?"

"Oh," I spoke before I could check myself, but I didn't regret it too much, "I'm not the only one that thinks that?"

She laughed at that – the good kind of laugh where they throw their head back and their eyes squeeze shut –

"You seem alright, kid. Even if he's a touchy idiot, he knows how to read people," she gave me a not-quite smile – it seemed she was one of those people that could only really smirk – and held out her hand, "The name's Clarisse, kid."

Her hand was slim and her fingers oddly calloused, "…I'm Betlinde… but don't spread that around."

I shot a dark look over at Pierre, my tone turning bland, "The only reason I said it is because he'd call me that anyways."

Clarisse laughed again, her eyes shimmering with amusement and understanding, "I'll just call you Bet, then. And, Bet, since you're new and young I'm going to ask something of you."

"And by ask," I stared up at her impassively, "you mean tell, right?"

Her smirk spread wider, verging on a sarcastic looking grin, before she squatted down to push the little girl forward, "Bet, meet my darling little Arlette. Arlette, meet your new big sister Bet."

At first I was going to try and weasel out of this – I wasn't sure how good I'd be with kids – but then the darn kid had to smile at me. Her nose scrunched and a shy blush reddened her cheeks as she ducked into her shoulders and I sent the blonde woman a withering look, but said nothing as I took Arlette's smaller hand.

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**Ahahahaha. Do you know what I've just done? ;D**

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	8. der achte

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**Guest: Canon people appearing? Who knows~! …. In all honestly it'll probably be several chapters down the road. But, you know, they're coming! And as for Arlette… I wonder…**

**Edited: 6/19**

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**der achte**

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As time passed – a few weeks, a few months – I'd discovered what Mukuro would discover in harsh and unpleasant circumstances. That discovery being my mindscape, a find that could probably be considered a happy accident, as I'd fallen asleep meditating to find it; not that I did it on purpose. I wasn't sure what the benefits of finding one's mindscape were, or if there were any.

Perhaps it was to connect with other, similar souls, like how Mukuro would eventually find Chrome.

All I knew was that my mind was _strange_ – or maybe it wasn't.

The so-called ground that I stood on was grassy, littered with wild violets and tall linden trees (no surprise there, really). It was very pretty; relaxing, even. The strange part was the sky – if it could even be called that. Buildings, skyscrapers, protruded down towards the ground, mist fading out what would be considered the bottom halves of the structures.

It was obviously a city, a city from my foggy past life. Perhaps this was my mind's way of splitting apart who I was and who I am. Almost an inner existential crisis, if one looked close enough.

All I knew was that I felt safe there, which probably spoke volumes for how well adjusted my mind was – though I had my doubts that it wasn't warped somewhat. Though I didn't know the details of how mindscapes and inner worlds worked; I'd need to ask someone about that.

A deep breath, one last look, and I shut my eyes – only to open them again with my face shoved deep into a pillow and my legs tangled in my sheets.

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"Your mindscape is a precious thing, child." Solange's gnarled fingers wove together, "But it can also be very dangerous – for you and for others."

She took a deep breath – her body sturdy like an oak, not shaking or wavering like the body of another person her age might. Her dark, dark eyes focused on my own purple ones, their depths showing just how serious she wanted me to take this.

"Under the right circumstances, what happens in your mindscape can also affect you _outside_." Steadily, her eyes remained on mine, "Fighting within is the same as fighting outside."

"So there's a way to fight in my mindscape? To pull someone in with me?" I could practically feel the gears in my head spinning along as if freshly oiled – because hadn't the Viper I remembered fought in their mindscape once? It… hadn't gone to well, if I remembered correctly.

"A powerful illusionist can, yes. Not every illusionist has that strength; some never even reach their mindscapes." Finally her dark, dark eyes moved away from mine, seeming looking off into the distance now, "Sometimes minds can even link by accident; but those accidents can sometimes be deadly if the mind you meet is volatile.

"It's also very possible," her eyes met mine again, "to get lost in your own mind. If you plunge too deep, you might never come back. Remember this, child, if you remember anything."

I exhaled suddenly; a breath I didn't know I'd been holding, "Yeah, I'll remember, old hag."

Because I think part of me already knew that that was a possibility. It made plenty of sense, being able to lose yourself within yourself. People did it all the time – perhaps not in this way, but all the same – people who don't want to face the world retreat inside of themselves, some so far they never come back. The same could be said for illusionists and their mindscapes, it seemed.

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Syntax and verb tenses swirled around in my head as Clarisse worded to explain and teach me basic Italian – basics that stuck well enough, thankfully. Clarisse was absolutely wonderful in the way that she was a mother and a teacher (and as a thief, too, if I had to guess; she didn't speak to me much about that part of her work). Though it had taken some begging to get her to acquiesce to my request for lessons, but she'd given in and I'd been learning bits and pieces of her mother language in the spare time I had that she also shared.

"Does Big Sis Bet wanna be like maman?" Arlette had shimmied her way into my lap, her teal hair tickling my nose, "Have a job with languages like maman?"

One of my hands reached up to flatten some of her hair, "Not the same job, but I think learning what your maman does would be useful."

"What job then?" Her eyes were wide, shining pools of blue tinted innocence, and it brought about a pang of… _longing_ in me.

Innocence… was something I hadn't quite had in some years – some other time in some other world. To not have seen the darkness in the world was both a blessing and a hindrance (not quite a curse, but close enough). But hacking was one thing, if that was indeed the life Arlette ended up with, that didn't have too much of a horrible influence. My eventual life as an assassin, on the other hand, was a whole other pool of darkness.

"A secret job," Clarisse spoke with her index finger pressed securely to her full lips, "Super-secret like a ninja."

Arlette looked at her with slightly wider eyes, now somewhat tinged with awe, and I almost froze when she swiveled to look up at me –

"You're a ninja?"

My lips parted for a silent moment before spreading into a soft smile, "In training. A ninja in training. You can't tell anyone, okay?"

Her eyes hone in pure, unadulterated childish glee as she pressed a stubby finger to her lips in imitation of her mother, "Arlette won't tell; she'll be super quiet so Big Sis Bet won't get in trouble."

It was almost _laughable_, this situation. Because in truth how could you better describe an illusionist and future assassin than as a ninja? The whole thing would be better if I was in Japan – or maybe not; I'd probably be laughing hysterically if that was the case, and constantly paranoid I'd run into one of Vongola Primo's descendants. As is I was somewhat concerned about how the hell my life would play out as is.

When would the Arcobaleno Curse come into play? How old was Viper – I – when that happened? After the fact I'd eventually become entangled with the Vongola and the Varia. Which I wasn't too sure about at this point – the Varia had always entertained me before, even if I hadn't much agreed with their idea that _Xanxus_ should be Vongola Decimo.

"What're you thinking so hard about, kid?" Clarisse eyed me, her hands relaxed above her keyboard, "You went from bein' all happy to bein' tense."

Arlette's little hands wrapped around one of my own, her face full of childish concern, "Do you have to go to the bathroom?"

My dry choking was drowned out by the laughter of the adults, Pierre's somewhat higher pitched almost strangled sounding laugh ringing out above the rest. Arlette, not understanding what was so funny, peered around at everyone with a pout on her face to attempt and show them her displeasure –

"Havin' to go to the bathroom isn't _funny_!"

As the redness of my cheeks faded hers lit up, the red coloring somewhat complementing her peachy skin and teal hair. Though her supposedly-angry pout was more cute than anything thanks to her large eyes and chubby cheeks, though since she wasn't a kid to get angry and throw tantrums her angry pout did fade into a general 'they're making fun of me' type of pout instead. That didn't mean that wasn't with its own downside – the kid could be quite scathing when she got into that type of mood.

"Say, why don't you two," Clarisse ushered us gently toward the door, handing me some money on the way, "go to the little dessert shop around the corner?"

And, like any good mother, Clarisse knew just how to turn Arlette's bad mood good again. She also seemed to know how to put me more at ease too – even if she had no idea she was doing it. Even after having been here so long I didn't always feel that I didn't quite – not belong, but feel – present, I suppose. Clarisse trusted me with her only child that she loved dearly – even if the place we were going really was just around the corner. Though it always left me clutching a bit harder to little Arlette's hand each time we went on these short, solo ventures, as the bustling streets were still so different to what I'd adjusted to in the first part of this life.

"I'm going to get some flan~!" Arlette practically cooed as she gripped my hand, "I really love flan!"

_Flan._

_Why was that…?_

Suddenly I felt completely stupid – so lost in what _would_ or _could_ be that I'd overlooked what was right in front of me. Arlette's teal hair should have been a big tip off. Her hair and being in _France_ –

_Fran._

_Arlette is – will be – Fran's **mother**._

_Clarisse will be his **grandmother**._

_Well, damn._

_I'm already starting to feel fond of that little shit._

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**There's probably going to be a fairly decent time skip coming up (maybe next chapter?). Like, I'll probably have little sections showing her training and interactions with people, but then get into her first real mission?**

**Would you guys mind that? There's only so much training I can write without it becoming repetitive.**


	9. der neunte

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**EDIT:**** Semi-decent changes; not necessarily in this chapter, but some here and in the previous two. Mostly done because I'm a doof and messed some stuff up and didn't realize until now and was also mentioned to me in a recent review (And honestly I might have put off editing had you not said something; I'm bad like that).**

**IMPORTANT: Due to these changes, Clarisse was teaching Bet/Viper **_**Italian**_** and **_**lock picking**_**.**

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**So, no mission. But I'm fond of this chapter.**

**Also, for clarification, Viper/Bet is sixteen now. Arlette is ten.**

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**der neunte**

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Four years – it had been seven years of intense training in illusionary arts since I'd arrived, and it was hard to comprehend. I had been ten, then eleven, and then twelve and then I had realized to Arlette was, and then things just seemed to jumble together in my head as training got more _intense _and muddled with the mental stress of everything. The illusionary training, hacking lessons, language lessons, and the joy of my second chance at puberty were the highlights of these four years; if you could call them that.

And I had a blatant, itching reminder of these years spent in Paris.

The process of getting the upside-down triangle tattoos was basically the same process as getting a tattoo (not that I had much experience with this in this or my previous life). Though these _burned_ and _itched_ – during the process it was like drops of boiling water followed every tiny prick of the needle. It was apparently a necessary evil of sorts, as the ink was apparently special in the way that the marks would never fade or wear with age, thus leading to the burn and itch – the latter of which had just faded after eight days.

"I still can't believe," Pierre rubbed at his own fairly fresh markings, "That we got these done at the same time, especially when I've been training for longer. You sure are something, Bet!"

"And I can't believe you still call me by _that_." His green eyes practically effervesced in happiness; something that hadn't changed a bit in all these years.

"Whaaaat? Clarisse calls you that; so does Arlette!"

"They're different." He was like a giant child, even as an almost-twenty-one-year-old. In a way I almost felt as if what I lacked in childish qualities growing up had been handed over to him. "I actually _like_ them."

"My _heart_! My heart, Betlinde!" His hand clenched dramatically at his chest. "It's _breaking_; can you hear it?"

"Is that what that beautiful sound was?"

"Man, Bet. You're so cruel to me, you know? And speaking of 'man'…" My eyes narrowed at his cheery, cheeky grin. "If you keep speaking in that deadpan tone people might think you're a man. Considering, you know…"

At this an indignant squawk left my mouth unbidden as he teasingly eyed me.

Because, damn it, it was fairly true. Puberty had brought me very subtle curves and almost no chest to speak of – my voice was even a little more on the deeper side of things, though it was feminine enough. Actually, my voice combined with my eyes was probably what allowed most to identify me as a woman. If I covered my eyes, it was much harder to tell, though my voice was probably enough for those who really listened to realize.

I was far more sensitive about it that I ever thought I would be; though I knew it would be a useful thing for me – so long as I wasn't _hassled_ about it.

"You," I felt my eyes narrow, my voice bland, "are a _pervert_. Starin' at my chest. Tch. What would the hag say?"

Pierre sputtered. "Don't tell Granny that! _Bet_! I am _not_. _Don't tell Granny_!"

"But Pierre," my voice was a low drawl, "Don't you need to hear about the birds and the bees?"

"Not again I don't!"

**/*\\*/*\\*/*\\*/*\\*/*\\*/*\**

"So, are you goin' away then?" Arlette furrowed her brows, her spindly legs kicking restlessly under her chair. "You'll still visit, right? Keep in contact, sis?"

"Well, I'm not goin' to _completely_ drop off the face of the Earth." I idly smoothed back the hood of my caplet, ignoring the sudden itch in my tattoos.

Arlette hopped down from her chair, her over the shoulder braid bouncing prettily and colorful skirt fluttering. "Good, because you're my _sister_. Sisters don't abandon sisters."

She was still precious, this child – and I had come to realize years ago that, yes, she truly did feel like my sister. In fact, Arlette felt more like a member of my family than any other family member I had had ever been (how could she not be when she looked at and treated me with such love?). Not that I could say that out loud, ever. She was like a warm spring breeze, bringing wonderful sensations wherever she went. Arlette was a gangly little ten year old now – all legs and arms, as she would be for a few years, almost like a newly born foal – but when she got older she'd be stunning and Clarisse would have to beat boys away from her with a stick.

Or Arlette could deal with them on her own – she would certainly be capable of it.

"How sickly sweet." Clarisse threw a sarcastic smile over her shoulder. "How did to kids under my influence end up so mushy?"

Arlette tittered a breathless sort of laugh, "Because even _maman_ has a soft side."

Clarisse snorted, rolling her shoulders before waving her daughter off. "Didn't you want to go down the street to the café? Something about ordering the lunch special?"

At this Arlette's eyes lit up before she babbled something about the supposed special, and how she'd order enough for everyone (Clarisse snorted at that, replied that she wasn't paying for everyone; the others in the room chuckled). Though not even a minute later Arlette had collected money from everyone and was out the door, calling that she'd be back soon and that, oh yes, the food was going to – oh, how do the Americans say it? – knock your socks off.

"That kid. Makes me feel older and older every day, I swear." Clarisse shook her head, a fond but wry smile twisting her lips.

"Oh yes." I pointed at her and twirled my finger, my voice sarcastic. "I can see it. The grey, I mean."

"Oh, fuck off brat." Arlette flipped her middle finger up, her smile fond and amused despite her words and action. "Now, what exactly are you going to go off and do?

"That Pierre is plannin' on joinin' that new circus, isn't he?" Arlette swiveled in her seat, legs crossed, leaning back on her elbows on the counter. "The one that's getting famous 'round here. What about you? Goin' to join him?"

My lip almost curled at the thought – because, no, I did not want to be constantly be surrounded by the combined aroma of carnie food, BO, and animal stink. It wasn't a pleasant thought and made my nose twinge a bit just _thinking_ about it.

"Not a chance. I won't subject myself to _that_ stink."

Clarisse laughed, loud and pretty. "Okay, I can understand that. Going as a solo act then? Or are you planning on focusing on languages? I mean, how many do you speak now? Or are you going to be some petty thief? You'd be better off in the circus, then."

"Four right now, with basic understanding of another." And the intention of learning another one (because having to know it was an inevitable sort of thing). "But no. I never really considered those options. I will use your lessons often enough though, I do believe."

The blonde woman frowned a bit and leaned forward, arms resting on her legs. "What are you wantin' to do? You have had all these options available and you've honestly _never_ thought about them?"

I was prepared to respond, but froze – because, what had that Viper done? Viper… now that I thought about it – really thought about it – nothing had said Viper had started out as a Mafioso/a, had it? In fact, not all of the Arcobaleno had been mafia before being 'chosen'. Colonello and Lal had been special operatives in the Italian army, hadn't they? And Skull – Skull had been a stuntman (not mafia, right?). Verde, a scientist. It was Reborn and Luce that had been bluntly labeled as mafia, and Fon was in with the Chinese Triads – which really was just the mafia of China.

Viper might have been just some performer – solo or with a circus or some sort of other group.

But, my going into the mafia – or the underworld, at least – was better, wasn't it? The whole recruitment process for the 'Seven Strongest' had been greatly focused on not 'who the strongest assassins were' for recruitment – it had been who had the strongest flames or at least the best capability. Then the seven had been trained as to become the strongest seven, and had been trained to be a team (lot of good _that_ part did). So my joining the underworld sooner would give me more training prior to the unavoidable ordeal.

Unavoidable because attempting to hide or run away from Checker Face was not something that I was keen on trying. I couldn't deny him either – I doubt that would go well either, plus he might then ask for reasons, and _reasons_ would get me axed immediately.

I exhaled slowly, deeply. My violet eyes met Clarisse's stunning blues. "I never considered them, because I know where I'd end up eventually. A hunch, I suppose."

"I see." Her voice was low, and I could see in her face she understood at least a little bit of why; she undoubtedly knew what I was going into – it was the only other real option not mentioned. "Be smart about it, Bet. Don't you dare ever put Arlette in danger – and if you ever do you better lay your life down for her."

"I'm not stupid or heartless."

And at that moment Arlette made a rather loud and wonderfully smelling entrance, her face bright. "I brought snacks, guys. Freshly baked and extra delicious."

The chatter around the café went from a dull murmur (we had been taking quietly enough that no one had overheard, thankfully) to a low roar as Arlette handed out the baked treats. After doing that she pulled me from my seat to the bar where her mother sat before sitting down herself, flashing me a sparking smile as she did –

"This can be our sort-of temporary goodbye, since, you know, you're coming back."

"Of course." I ripped a piece of the pastry of, raining a bit of powdered sugar down on the wrapper. "I won't be leaving for a few days yet, though. Maybe a week."

Arlette perked up, her head swiveling to me, a smear of powdered sugar on her left cheek. "So, we have time for more lessons?"

"One or two, I suppose."

"_Score_!"

**/*\\*/**_**Approx. One Year Ago**_**.\\*/*\**

_Betlinde – no, Viper – had found that she was awfully fond of Clarisse and Arlette's home the moment she had laid eyes on it; even now her infatuation with the rustic little place only grew. It was a nice little cottage on the outskirts of Paris with faded paint and ivy creeping prettily up the walls and trellises full of pretty, fragrant flowers. Viper had mused out loud that the pretty home didn't much fit Clarisse – said musings had earned the then-thirteen-year-old a smack to the back of the head._

_It had been the start of her new sometimes-home-lessons, which happened when Clarisse had things to do at home or just didn't feel like going into the city. Viper couldn't say she had ever minded; the atmosphere in a home-that-wasn't-hers was better than the one in the 'underground' café._

_But what had made the lessons become a permanent at-home-but-not-her-home sort of thing happened slowly, but not too slowly. Because it happened as Arlette gave a rather detailed description of the unicorn she'd seen in her dream the night before._

_It had slowly built up behind the teal haired child in little wisps, and had Viper almost reeling before she silently composed herself before her actual composure could be broken –_

_Because, no, it wasn't unusual. Her son would be __**Fran**__, after all. One of three illusionists who could fool the __**Vindice**__._

_Arlette had conjured a unicorn using mist flames that she had no idea she was even using. Viper had watched as it happened, Clarisse had walked through the door, seen it, and dropped a plate in surprise. It was her dropping the plate that had Arlette spinning around, only for the nine year old to freeze in place and watch in awe as the horned beast slowly faded._

"_Big sis Bet! Did you do that for me?"_

_Viper smiled wryly. "Nope."_

_A glistening smile. "I did…did __**I?!"**_

"_Yeah, sweetie, you did." It was Clarisse that spoke, her voice somewhat apprehensive. "Maybe your sister can teach you the ropes."_

**/*\\*/Present Day\\*/*\**

As Arlette spun around the clearing, almost shrieking with laughter as her very own illusionary butterflies fluttered around her, I couldn't help but to feel like I was being socked in the gut. The kid was good, like I had been, like Fran would be. Arlette wouldn't be joining the order – even if they asked (because there was more than likely no way they _didn't_ know about her considering Paris was practically _theirs_). No, Arlette wouldn't join them because she would refuse if they asked.

In fact, that old hag Solange had tried hinting at something along the lines of asking the child and I had nearly bitten her head off.

Arlette didn't need the Order – I planned on making sure she wouldn't need help from them, even if I wasn't going to always be around.

"Bet! Bet!" Arlette stumbled over, breathless, flushed, eyes glistening like the ocean. "I'm really going to miss this. I'm going to miss _you_."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll miss you too." My violet hair blew into my face with a gust of spring air. "But I'll visit. I won't forget."

Her laughter chimed like tinkling bells this time around instead of the shrieking it was before. "Neither will I! But what if I ever move away from Paris and can't tell you?"

"Then I'll find you."

A pause. A low, sad voice. "This is really our last day together, for now, isn't it?"

A sad, fond smile. "For now. But not forever."

"Right. Not Forever."

**/*\\*/*\\*/*\\*/*\\*/*\\*/*\**

**Note:** _Languages Betlinde/Viper currently knows: German, English, French, Italian. With working knowledge of Spanish. She plans on learning Japanese, of course. _

**Also, I love the Arlette-Bet sisterly bond. **

**We have not seen the last of the teal haired girl or her mother.**

**Also x2; Would you guys like me to make a tumblr where you could ask questions and such? Or pester me to update.**

**Guest Reviews:**

**Guest 1: Thank you! :)**

**Guest 2 (That asked about age.): **_Betlinde is sixteen. She could become an Arcobaleno anywhere from, lets say, Age 18-23. Luce doesn't give birth to Aria until sometime after becoming an Arcobaleno. And Aria is somewhere around 24-27 in the main storyline. So therefore all Arcobaleno would technically be in their forties or fifties by then!_

**KK: **_Ah mah gah. Thanks so much._

_Also, sorry for now updating sooner! :x I hope you're still with me, friend!_


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